


if life is pain then i buried mine (but it's still alive).

by maiaslightwood



Series: out of the shadows & into the light. [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Episode: s03e10 Erchomai, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, Post-Episode: s03e10 Erchomai, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiaslightwood/pseuds/maiaslightwood
Summary: There’s a choking sound, something of a mix between a cry and a shout and it takes her a second or two to realize it’s coming from her own throat.





	if life is pain then i buried mine (but it's still alive).

**Author's Note:**

> we all know the show will never properly cover ollie's journey after being possessed by a demon and having to kill her own mother so i wrote something on it, which i'm a bit nervous to post about but we'll see.
> 
>  **CONTENT WARNINGS:** descriptions of canon-typical violence but nothing too graphic; discussions of murder and death; ollie reflects on how she felt and still feels wrong in her own body and blames herself; she has intrusive flashbacks to the events that aren't described in too much detail though but there's some suicidal ideation in this too (though it's minor).
> 
> title from _paralyzed_ by nf.

There is no blood on her hands. She knows this because there is no red, just the white of her skin, too pale and stretched over knuckles from clenching her hands into fists. There is no blood on her hands but it feels like there is, like she can’t wash it off no matter how hard she scrubs. Skin raw and red.

She remembers all of it, that is the worst part. (Or the best part, maybe.) She remembers the sheer fear in her bones when the demon had flung her to the floor and choked her and breathed into her – something that tasted of gasoline and ash and death. She remembers the panic as something took hold of her bones, slowly spreading with a sinking feeling of _no, no, no_. She remembers… she remembers it all. The blood pooling from her mother’s throat and the betrayal in her eyes as she stared up at her and the emptiness within her own mind. There had been a small part of her, locked away behind barriers and walls, that had screamed in pain, had cried and clawed at her own hair. And yet she hadn’t looked twice at her mother’s lifeless body as she stepped over it, eyes fixed on the road in front of her, feet moving with purpose. 

She remembers the woman, beautiful and gentle even as she slit her throat. _Mother_. It makes what she did even worse; makes bile rise up in her throat at the memory of her own voice. _I killed her and let another take her place_.

She scrubs harder at her hands, breathing harder against the tears and the sobs.

Luke had been right. She had been naïve to run into this head first without a care. Enjoying this whole thing as if it was a game. She had been so lucky, lucky enough not to turn out a werewolf and offered another chance. And she had thrown it all away because she was too curious, too deep too fast to know her way out, know when to stop.

She could have killed them all. She **would** have killed them all.

_I killed my mother and now I’m gonna kill you. And then I’ll go home to Sam and stab her until there’s no one left to love._

There is no blood on her hands but there had been. Her hand had been coated in it up to the wrist, deep dark red and sticking to her skin. It had dried even darker, an almost brown that had been hard to scrub off but she hadn’t cared for the pain back then. She doesn’t care for it now. Instead she wishes it was still there so there would be _something_ ….

_I killed my mother. And then I’ll go home to Sam and stab her until there’s no one left to love._

_I killed my mother._

_I killed my mother._

**_I killed my mother._ **

There’s a choking sound, something of a mix between a cry and a shout and it takes her a second or two to realize it’s coming from her own throat. Her hands cling to the sink, her head bowed forward because she can’t bear to look at herself in the mirror. There’s no vacant look in her eyes, her features aren’t void of emotions anymore. So why hasn’t it stopped? Why hasn’t she woken up yet to smiles and warm coffee and the feeling of home? Why do these hands, this body not feel like they belong to her?

_And then I’ll go home to Sam and stab her until there’s no one left to love._

When Luke had finally taken her home, Sam had burst through the door, arms outstretched and clutching at her with a desperation she hadn’t known before. Her first instinct had been to step back, to hold up her hands because what if, _what if_ … She couldn’t risk it, not again, not this. Sam had realized after a moment, stepping back but her hands had remained on her shoulders, gripping at her as if afraid to let go. And she had stared with those warm brown eyes that had always meant the world to her, always held all the answers. She hadn’t looked at her any differently and for a moment it had been easy to pretend.

Until it wasn’t.

Until she wanted to yell and ask how she could still look at her like that, touch her when she had done such horrible things and enjoyed them. How could she still show her kindness, how could her hands brush so gently at her cheeks, wiping away tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed; how, when she had thought about killing her too.

 _It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you_.

Luke had told her, Sam had whispered it into her hair. Her own brain is screaming it at her, the same sentence over and over.

_It wasn’t you, it was the demon._

But it had been her hands, her fingers, her smile, her eyes watching as—…

A knock. “Ollie? Ollie, are you…” Samantha’s voice is cautious, soft. Too _fucking_ soft for speaking to someone like her. A beat of silence. It’s only now that she realizes her breathing is hard and ragged and so loud it’s probably audible through the bathroom door.

“Can I come in”, comes the question instead. She hadn’t locked the door once she had stumbled inside, leaving Luke and Sam behind in the living room because her hands were shaking and she needed to rub them clean. There was no blood.

She tries to make a sound, a yes or no of sorts who knows, but nothing comes out. She can’t even move her hands, still gripping at the sink, the water running. Clean, without any traces of red.

She can’t look at herself, can’t look at Sam. How do you look the woman you love in the eyes after what you did? How do you not run away so she is safe from you and from your hands?

_It wasn’t you, it was the demon._

“Ollie, baby, I just… I’m here for you. If you need me.”

 _When_ , she wants to shout because despite it all, despite the fear and dread crawling up her spine she knows she could never push Samantha away for good. How, when the sheer thought of it intensifies the pain within her chest by a thousand? She wants to be held, to hold too, to feel safe and assured everything will be alright but how can her hands touch someone so good?

 _You were good too before they ruined you_.

She manages a sound then, another sob, clearer this time. One of her hands shoots up, the back of it pressing to her lips as if it could push the sound back in. It’s already out and all the confirmation Sam needs to open the door. Slowly as if any fast movement could scare her away.

“Ollie…” Her voice is heartbreaking, soft and pained, more than she has ever heard it before. She doesn’t dare look up at the sound of her name.

_Is that really me?_

It was. It used to be once when her body had belonged to herself and she hadn’t… Now that the demon has left it it feels hollow, empty like it isn’t quite her own. Too small to hold all this guilt and pain. Too big for her simple, mortal soul. But it had been her. It had been her voice, her hands, her fingers closing around a throat—…

“Hey.” Samantha’s voice is soothing, somehow calling to a part of her not completely lost in staring at the white sink and the water running and trying to reach within her to find anything to make this better. It’s accompanied by a touch, tentative and careful, just the slightest brush of fingertips against her neck.

 _You don’t want this, you can’t have this_.

Her mind is sure of that but her body, her body betrays her easily, leaning into the touch and her eyes flutter closed for a moment. It had only been a few days but she feels like she has been starving for closeness, for touch, for this.

The cold touches of Lilith’s hand had been something the demon longed for, leaning into it and hissing in pleasure on the inside. Like an animal, it had relished in the careful touch of its owner. She feels sick at the thought and memory.

Sam’s touch isn’t cold, isn’t laced with a magic that is dark and calling to a deep part of her. It’s familiar, it’s a reminder of _before_ , of good and happiness. It’s another memory trying to chase away the past few days.

Fingertips turn to a hand running up and down her neck, down her spine between her shoulder blades and a body moving closer. She can feel the heat of her to her right, just behind her. Soft and warm as she always has been and _there_. There for her despite it all. Despite her thoughts, despite what she did…

“Do you want to go to bed?”

The question almost makes her laugh. She doesn’t think she could sleep even though she barely has ever since the demon took hold of her. Her bones feel heavy, her mind is tired, _so tired_ but she knows if she lays down and closes her eyes dreams will come. It could be nightmares, memories or it could be happiness, a reality in which the past three days don’t exist. Those would be worse.

She turns, slowly. She couldn’t live if Sam would flinch away from her eyes but at the same time she almost wishes she would. Almost wishes she would run for the hills and scream at her and call her a monster because isn’t that what she is?

Of course, she doesn’t. This brave woman she loves had never run, never turned her back on those close to her heart. She has seen her face every challenge with the lift of her chin and eyes set in determination. Now she looks gentle, loving – usually reserved for evenings after long nights at work, for takeout on the couch and some show on Netflix and sharing that old, soft blanket.

Sam’s other hand finds her shoulder too, thumbs running gentle circles on top of her shirt. It’s a grounding touch and for a moment she gets lost in the feeling, in the depth of brown eyes and the love she can see. _How does one keep loving after this?_

“Do you want some tea?” It should sound ridiculous because her life has been turned over, her hands won’t stop shaking and her mind won’t keep quiet and Sam is asking about tea. But somehow the image of a warm cup of chamomile, of warming her fingers and her insides at it is a soothing one. She manages a nod then, her eyes fixed on a spot above Samantha’s shoulder.

Still she catches the small smile, just a barely-there hint at the corners of her mouth. Some lost part of her wants to raise her fingertips to it, wants to press her own lips against it to forget. Instead she just leans forward, carefully landing her forehead on Sam’s shoulder. She doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t push her away. Instead her arms wrap around her, safe and warm as always.

_How?_

The question is left unspoken and unanswered. Samantha’s fingertips run through her hair, gently as if to lull her to sleep. Her legs are so tired she doesn’t doubt she could fall asleep right now if her eyes wouldn’t stay focused on the door handle, on anything just so she doesn’t give in to sleep. It would be a blessing to let her mind wander and that would ultimately turn into a curse and she would wake up soaked in sweat and tears.

“I’m here for you.” Samantha’s voice is only a soft whisper, a breath against the top of her head. “Whatever you want, whatever you need to make it through this.”

She isn’t quite sure she wants to. Even as her arms wrap around her girlfriend tightly, as she holds on with all she has. She wishes she could tell her, could find a way to release the words that lay heavily on her tongue. She wishes she could let her know how lonely she felt, trapped in this body with no control and having to watch as a demon slaughtered with her own hands. Would Sam still hold her like this then, if she knew all the details, if she knew she had wanted to kill her too?

_It wasn’t you, it was the demon._

“I’m here for you”, Samantha repeats and somehow her words drown out the thoughts pounding against the front of her head.

_It wasn’t you, it was the demon._

The sound of running water slowly fades to background noise.

**Author's Note:**

> give my sapphic moms the happiness they deserve @ shtv!!!!!!


End file.
